INVESTITURE CEREMONIES WERE TRADITIONALLY HELD AT Buckingham Palace and were rigidly scripted affairs, complete with a full basic load of pomp, ceremony, colorful uniforms, and pageantry steeped in ancient ritual. The king personally made the presentation of the award to the recipient. At least that was the way it worked in peacetime before the war. Now that the palace itself had been the actual target of a Nazi air raid, a lot of the pageantry was dispensed with. Tin hats and sandbags were much in evidence.
Even with London under constant air attack, certain standards had to be maintained. King George VI, the man who had never wanted to be king but was making a very good job of it, was determined not to let enemy action prescribe when or how he honored the nation’s heroes. That simply was not done.
Two investiture ceremonies involving the Raiders had already taken place at the palace over the preceding weeks. The first ceremony was a highly publicized affair designed to boost public morale. The English people do like their military heroes, and even though they were going through extremely dark times while England stood alone against the Third Reich, it was important for the public to know that its men were rising to the occasion and performing great feats of derring-do in the country’s defense. Commodore (Senior Grade) Richard “Dickie the Pirate” Seaborn had stood before his king and received the nation’s highest medal for valor, the Victoria Cross, for his part in Operation Lounge Lizard. Prime Minister Winston Churchill had personally lobbied for the upgrade of the award. It made the fairy tale he was telling the unhappy Portuguese ambassador somewhat easier to swallow.
All his life King George VI had never aspired to be anything other than a Royal Navy officer, and he happily would have been one still had his scalawag brother not unexpectedly abdicated the throne to marry a divorcée. As a young lieutenant serving incognito as “Mr. Johnson” on board the battleship HMS Collingwood, His Royal Highness Prince Albert had seen action as the second officer in Turret “A” the day the Grand Fleet sallied forth and fought the Battle of Jutland.
Mr. Johnson (the prince was not really fooling anyone) very nearly missed taking part in the battle in much the same way as had today’s VC recipient. Alas, at the very moment the Collingwood sailed, he was ensconced in her sick bay, incapacitated by a surfeit of soused herring consumed at a party in the officers’ mess.
Making a speedy recovery, spurred on by the prospects of action, the future king busied himself by preparing hot chocolate for the sailors manning the gun in his turret. At first blush, this might seem somewhat foppish; however, at the time it was a pretty cool move when you consider that the Germans were lobbing cannon shells the size of Volkswagen Beetles at the Collingwood as fast as they could reload.
Prince Albert’s personal recipe for cocoa, called “kai” in sailor’s slang, was this: cocoa paste he made by scraping a block of Admiralty-issue Pusser’s chocolate, sugar, a pinch of custard powder (as a thickener to make the spoon stand up straight all by itself in the middle of the cup—the lower deck’s mark of good kai), condensed milk, and hot water. It is not all that easy to perform simple mundane tasks when you are standing by to explode.
In the very public, much-publicized VC investiture ceremony attended by family, friends, high-ranking political, military, and intelligence luminaries of every stripe, as well as a contingent from the Strategic Raiding Forces led by acting Major Terry “Zorro” Stone, the commodore received his “gong” and became a national hero.
Pinning on the medal, the king observed, “The fleet did not sail without you this time, eh, Dickie?” There are simply some things a man can never live down.
The second ceremony was a small, hush-hush, private affair. It, too, was held at the palace, though not in the grand hall, and the press was not invited. In fact, they were not even allowed to know it was scheduled. No family or friends were in attendance. The recipients, all of whom were awarded the Order of the British Empire, were: Captain the Lady Jane Seaborn, Royal Marine Pamala Plum-Martin, Jim “Baldie” Taylor (who had been ordered to leave the Gold Coast and never return), Mr. Ray Terhune, three very hungover Gold Coast tugboat skippers (who at that moment were the three most surprised men on planet Earth), and Captain “Geronimo Joe” McKoy.
The citations all read, “For Service to the Crown.” And that was all.
The third ceremony, to decorate the men who had carried out the daring parachute raid on Tomcat, was a bit unusual in that an entire military unit was decorated en masse, a rare event in Great Britain. The occasion was highly publicized for maximum exposure, but the event itself was relatively private, limited to the men involved: the Strategic Raiding Force, supporting elements from No. 1 Parachute School, Whitley pilots and crew, certain members of the Mountain Warfare School, two Landing Craft Assault skippers, and two invited guests per recipient. No press was allowed to attend, interviews were forbidden, and all photographs were limited to those taken by the official palace photographer. The heads of all the major services were present.
Raiding Forces, under the command of acting Major Stone, assembled within the walls of Buckingham Palace, out on the driveway, ready to march into the great hall for the ceremony. Their invited guests and other dignitaries from all the branches of the military and intelligence services were waiting inside for the proceedings to begin. The Strategic Raiding Force was about to become, for a time, the most decorated unit in the British Armed Forces.
The ceremony was a major event. Every officer and man was to be decorated. Those who were not singled out for specific awards for valor or special service were being “Mentioned in Dispatches,” which is a much-coveted honor indicated by the person mentioned being allowed to wear a small bronze oak leaf on his or her service ribbon.
He did not know it yet, but for his planning, forward reconnaissance, and gallant conduct in Operation Lounge Lizard (though, being classified information, none of that was a part of the official citation), acting Major Stone was about to be accorded the great distinction of being inducted into the Order of the British Empire in the rank of Knight Commander. Henceforth, he would be known as “Sir Terry.”
In addition to the bar to his Military Cross that Major Sir Terry “Zorro” Stone was to receive for his part in Operation Tomcat, he was also being awarded a second bar for “destroying an enemy munitions train while conducting a small-scale pinprick raid somewhere in France.”
Squadron Leader Paddy Wilcox was to receive the Order of the British Empire—one of the few decorations he had not already won—for his part in planning and executing Operation Buzzard Plucker.
Lieutenant Randy “Hornblower” Seaborn was to receive a first and second bar to his Distinguished Service Cross for operations Tomcat and Lounge Lizard.
Captain Jeb Pelham-Davies was to be awarded a first and second bar to the Military Cross he had won while serving in the Duke of Wellington’s Regiment in the British Expeditionary Force for operations Tomcat and Lounge Lizard.
Newly commissioned Second Lieutenant Jack Merritt, Inns of Court Regiment (Armored Cars), was to receive the Military Cross for his actions on the Ems. Out of respect for the known wishes of Major John Randal, it had been decided that his direct commission be backdated to the day before Operation Lounge Lizard so that the former corporal could be decorated as an officer. (In the class-conscious British military system of awarding medals, generally speaking, majors and above receive the Distinguished Service Order, captains and below receive the Military Cross, sergeants and above receive the Distinguished Conduct Medal, while corporals and below receive the Military Medal.) He was also to receive a second Mention in Dispatches for Operation Tomcat, which made him the most decorated second lieutenant currently on active duty. The reason the former 2nd Life Guards Cavalry Regiment corporal had been commissioned in the Inns of Court Regiment was that he did not have the independent income required of all officers in the Life Guards. It was their loss.
Lieutenant Harry Shelby was to be rewarded with the Military Cross for his reconnaissance of Operation Tomcat prior to the raid. In addition, he would be receiving a bar for his part in Operation Lounge Lizard.
Lieutenant “Pyro” Percy Stirling was to receive the Military Cross for his actions on Operation Tomcat and a bar for his actions during Operation Lounge Lizard. (Since Operation Comanche Yell was an ongoing mission, there were to be no decorations awarded for it at this time.)
Lieutenant Taylor Corrigan was to receive the Military Cross and bar for operations Tomcat and Lounge Lizard.
Sergeant Major Maxwell Hicks was receiving a first and second bar to the Distinguished Conduct Medal he had won on the first Raiding Forces pinprick raid, for operations Tomcat and Lounge Lizard.
Sergeant Mike “March or Die” Mikkalis was to finally receive his Distinguished Conduct Medal for his actions at Calais and a first and second bar for operations Tomcat and Lounge Lizard.
Royal Marine Sergeant Mickey Duggan was to receive the Distinguished Conduct Medal for his part in Operation Lounge Lizard and the Military Medal for Calais.
Royal Marine Butch Hoolihan was to receive a well-earned Military Medal for his actions on the Ems.
Just as the moment arrived for the men to march in and meet their king, the gates opened and a Rolls Royce slowly rolled into the compound. Everyone turned to stare. The driver exited. She was a tall, striking brunette Royal Marine no one in Raiding Forces had ever clapped eyes on before.
The chauffeur went around to the back door and opened it. Out stepped a pale-looking Major John Randal followed quickly by Captain Lady Seaborn and Royal Marine Plum-Martin. The two Royal Marines each grasped an arm to keep him steady. Neither woman was smiling. Obviously, they did not approve of his being there today.
Major Randal was wearing his Pembrooks cashmere overcoat—Mr. Chatterley had sent a note back with the perfectly restored garment, admonishing him to please not get any more bullet holes in it—and carrying a cane in one hand. When he caught sight of the troops, he turned and tossed the stick back into the car.
Raiding Forces wavered for a moment, then broke ranks and pounded down to the Rolls where they surrounded their commanding officer, all talking at once. They were a happy lot. None of them, except acting Major Stone, had seen him since he had been wounded. The word had come down that he might not make it, meaning die from his wounds.
“You didn’t really think I was going to miss your big day, did you?” Major Randal laughed, sounding shaky. Well, yes they had, actually.
Flanked by Captain Lady Seaborn and Royal Marine Plum-Martin, Major Randal led Raiding Forces into the great hall at a slow march.
The king hung the Distinguished Service Order on the little metal hook that had been carefully pre-positioned on the pocket of Major John Randal’s now loose-fitting Pembrooks uniform blouse. It would not do for his Royal Highness to be fumbling around trying to latch a pin. With just the slightest hint of the stammer he had fought since childhood, the monarch said, “You will notice, Major, that this ribbon has two bars on it, signifying the award of your second and third DSO.”
Major Randal looked down in surprise.
“One is for your splendid parachute mission. The other, well, there is not much we can say about that one, is there? Operation Lounge Lizard aptly named after Major Stone, no doubt. Number three is for Calais.”
“Your—”
“I realize, naturally, that as a citizen of the United States you do not actually regard me as your sovereign. However, Major, as a member in good standing of The Rangers, now a battalion of the K.R.R.C., I am quite confident you do acknowledge I am the colonel-in-chief of your regiment, a responsibility I undertake with the utmost gravity. In the course of my duties in that capacity, it has come to my attention you have indicated a desire to refuse any recognition for your service at Calais.”
“That is correct, your Majesty.”
“Major Randal, you looked after the welfare of your Riflemen at Calais and I am merely doing the same thing for one of mine now. Let no more be said.”
“Lastly, if ever there should come a time when you should find yourself in need of a friend in a high place, as happens on occasion in the service, you need merely dial the number on the card I have ordered to be placed in the leather container that you will receive after the ceremony in which to store your medal. Say the code word indicated on the card and someone from my personal staff will accept the call.”
“I’ll try not to need it, sir.”
Next, when acting Major Stone was given the order to “Rise, Sir Terry” after being tapped on his shoulders by his sovereign’s sword, the king looked him square in the eye and said, “Princess Elizabeth asked me to convey to you her heartfelt congratulations. She would have dearly loved to be here today to deliver them in person, but her mother, the queen, forbade it, a salacious incident in the Life Guards mess involving a red-headed BOAC Clipper Girl recently having come to her attention. I should like to point out to you that my daughter, the royal princess, is only seventeen years old. Would not your best service to the crown, Sir Terry, be found somewhere in, say, the Middle East?”
Uh-oh!
After the ceremony, Captain McKoy walked a noticeably exhausted Major Randal and the two stone-faced women Royal Marines slowly back to the Rolls. The silver-haired showman was dressed in an ancient tuxedo. A pale blue ribbon flecked with tiny white stars and a five-pointed bronze medallion dangling on the end was draped around his neck.
“That what I think it is?” Major Randal asked, looking at the Medal of Honor. It was the first one he had ever seen worn by a recipient. “You must have really torn ’em up in Cuba.”
“I wore it to honor my star pupil, young Major.”
“Means a lot, Captain McKoy.”
“Between you and me, John, I don’t put much truck in medals. Who got what don’t mean nothing most times. Besides, I didn’t get this in Cuba.”
“Captain, we need to talk; you’ve some tall explaining to do.”
“Maybe we’ll do ’er someday,” Captain McKoy responded evasively. “Right now, before these two women drag you out of here, I’ve got a question I’ve been dyin’ to hear the answer to. What did it feel like to wade knee-deep into a barroom full of Nazis and blaze away?” Captain McKoy asked. “I’d sure loved to have been a fly on the wall in the Blue Duck when you cut loose.”
“A mistake.”
“I’ve know’d the feeling.”
In the car, when Major John Randal turned over the card in the leather zippered container, written on the back were the words, “DEAD EAGLES.”